


Boxes in the Attic

by nonbinarycoded



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, F/M, abusive allison, please be careful reading this guys the tags aren't a joke it's heavy, pre-allison's death, pre-project freelancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarycoded/pseuds/nonbinarycoded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caroline has gotten used to hiding in the attic whenever her mother gets mad.  When she hears her father get hurt, though, she decides to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxes in the Attic

When you were very little, your dad showed you hiding spots in the attic. The attic was full of small crawlspaces, hidden behind boxes and panels and old junk neither he nor your mom had ever bothered to get rid of, and he told you they were great hiding places for if something bad happened with he and mommy. You didn't quite understand then, but you think you do now.

The yelling used to scare you, but you're a big girl, a whole 7 years old, so you've stopped running up the stairs to the attic when you hear mom getting loud. Instead, you go up there calmly, grab the flashlight dad keeps by the door, and sit in your favorite hiding spot- under some dusty, moth-bitten sheets and behind a box of old picture albums. You love looking through the old photos, but you try to stay away from the ones that aren't in the books.

You found some weird ones shoved into the bottom of the box, once. They looked like your dad had taken them of himself, and they were of a bunch of bruises and scrapes all over him. Each one had the word 'evidence' written on the back in your dad's handwriting, too. You tried to ask what they meant once, and brought them down to your mom and dad when they were both happy. You dad just looked scared, though, and instead of explaining what they were, your mom took them and started asking dad questions. She was getting loud again, so you went back up to the attic to wait. The feeling that you'd done something wrong wouldn't go away, but you didn't know what it was you'd done.

The next time you went up to the attic, the photo albums were much more empty.

You've learned how to avoid making her mad since then. Whenever you see her drinking from the bottles in the locked cabinets, you try not to talk to her. If she smells like what's in the bottles, you just go straight up to the attic and wait.

So that's how you end up in the attic again, listening to your mom grow louder and louder below you. You don't hear your dad; you never hear him when you have to go up to the attic. Your mom's words are muffled by the floorboards, so it makes it easier to block out what's happening. Much less easy to block out, however, is the sound of your dad screaming. Just once, and it cuts off right away, but it still scares you. Your dad's tough, he's not supposed to scream like that. You decide there must be something really wrong this time, so you climb out of your place behind the boxes and sneak down the stairs.

Perched on the fourth step from the top, you have just enough space to see what's going on below without being too obvious. It just looks like your mom is shouting at your dad, until he turns towards you and you see a long cut down his cheek. He freezes when he sees you, and your mom grabs him by the shoulders and begins to shake him, still shouting at him.

You want to yell, you want to make her stop, you _need_ to make her stop, but you can just sit there and stare. After a moment, you realize that it's quiet, and that both your mom and dad are staring at you. Your dad just looks fearful, but your mom looks _furious_.

“What are you doing down here?” she asks, and it takes you a second to find any words.

“I- I heard- I-” you stammer, and even though you know it'll get you in trouble you blurt out, “ _What are you doing to dad_?”

There's a beat of silence, then a second, then a third, before your dad shakes his head and tries to tell you something. “Caroline, go back up-”  
  
Your mom shakes him again, though, and he falls silent. “Your dad did something _very_ bad, so he's just getting what he deserves,  _right_ Leonard?” You think you see her hand tighten on his shoulder, and he winces before nodding. “Go back upstairs, honey. He'll be quieter now, I promise. Won't you, Leonard?” Your dad nods again, but your brain catches on your mom calling you _honey_ in that too-sweet-to-be-sincere tone. You decide you don't like her calling you that anymore.

“Don't call me honey anymore,” you tell her, before scrambling back up the stairs and to the attic. Its easy to ignore how her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down when you said that, so you do. You settle back into the boxes as the yelling from below starts up again, but you just drown it out like before and pick up the photo album.

You stare down at the picture of your dad in a tuxedo and your mom in a white dress for a minute before closing the photo album and putting it back in the box. You really need some new boxes to hide behind, you decide, picking up the flashlight and climbing out again.


End file.
